


Broken

by Fabellion



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, First fic I'm posting here but technically not the first I've written, Gen, The Davie Episode, Ugh this is so old but I guess I still like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 04:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12073509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fabellion/pseuds/Fabellion
Summary: It was raining the day he found out.That day, when reality decided to shatter his innocent tranquility into a million glowing fragments, rearing back its ugly hand and stabbing him straight through his pure, pure little heart.





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyy, finally decided to get my ass in gear and try to post something worthwhile!! Or, eh... at least somewhat worthwhile. This fic is actually pretty old and my writing style's shifted a bit (for better or for worse) but I decided it was decent enough to be shown off at least a little. 
> 
> I'm actually not in the Hetalia fandom much anymore, but enjoy regardless??
> 
> Oh, and if there's any other tags I should put, please just lemme know!!

It was raining the day he found out. That day, when reality decided to shatter his innocent tranquility into a million glowing fragments, rearing back its ugly hand and stabbing him straight through his pure, pure little heart. 

He never understood, at first. Arthur Kirkland realized that plain as day the moment he was first asked. The child had tapped quietly up to his feet, hands wrung almost shyly behind his back as he gazed skyward with cloudy, _innocent_ blue eyes. The Brit’s initial reaction had been to scoop the smaller country into his arms, clutch him close and question what was wrong, why he was being so uncharacteristically, unnaturally silent. He instead settled for leveling the boy with a puzzled glance, concern laced within. When a few moments passed and the child had yet to speak, however, he gave in and murmured, “America? What’s the matter?” Arthur’s voice was soft, but the boy jumped anyway. His eyes flitted downwards and he shifted his weight nervously, kicking sullenly at the cold ground; only after he’d managed a deep breath did he finally look up, gaze echoing the confusion threading his voice as he suddenly, shakily asked, “A-Arthur? Why….why won’t Davie wake up?” 

Arthur’s breath hitched in his throat. _You’re way too young to..._

The world seemed to tilt to a stop around them, the echoed whispers of waters and winds slowly ceasing to blank nothingness. Looming trees and grasses, dotted farm houses and the distant church; all were as though they were leaning forwards eagerly, all watching, all waiting for the very second their frail representative would cruelly, inevitably _break_.

Only the storm truly carried on around them, white noise of the rain roaring like thunder in their ears as it danced in sheets against the splotchy, black and white background of the world. 

Once upon a time Arthur had foolishly assumed (‘So completely foolish…’) that had he kept his innocent little brother’s gaze averted from the sickening reality masquerading as Death, Life would simply never be questioned. And it was only in this fleeting, earth-shattering moment that he- Arthur Kirkland, England, Great Britain -knew, for once in his own eternal life - that he had never, _ever_ been more wrong.  
Never been so utterly foolish.

And now they’d both be forced to pay the price. 

Arthur swallowed thickly; mentioning he looked distraught would be the understatement of the freaking century. The very last thing he’d wanted- no, _needed_ was to admit to a _mere child_ \- and certainly not to his sensitive little America -that his dearest friend wouldn’t see the light of day ever again. ‘How does one even go about explaining concepts such as death, anyway?’ Panic rose in his thoughts. After he’d somehow managed to quell the rising lump in his throat, Arthur took a deep, shuddering breath and murmured. “Alfred,” The child perked up; England never used his human name unless he was saying something important or fiercely scolding him.  
“Davie’s dead, Alfred.” 

The reaction was that of monotone astonishment. “Oh.” Alfred breathed. Just as the older began to relax -he was surprised everything was being handled this well- the boy curiously cocked his head and murmured, “But Davie can’t be ‘dead’. Davie’s Davie.” 

_Oh, God._ Eyes widening in horror, Arthur stumbled a pace back- and it all clicked. He’d never once seen that of death before, and most certainly not the death of a human. As a child should not, Alfred had never had a reason to look the damned in the face and wonder _why, why aren’t they moving anymore, why isn’t Davie moving anymore,_ because all of a sudden it was his friend lying there, cold and broken, and Arthur simply didn’t know what to say without crushing his colony’s heart to weeping, dying fragments. 

How unfortunate that was his only choice.

“A-Alfred,” He tried again, voice choking. “Davie’s never going to wake up again. ‘Dead’ is when your body, your mind stops responding to this earth and finally shuts down. T-they grow cold and motionless, and they never speak again.” A chord struck deep within him at the sight of tears beading the child’s suddenly stricken blue eyes. Arthur forced himself to continue. “He’s gone, Alfred.” 

And that was it. Every word, every second, every fading drop of the crying rain all cracked upon America’s frail, _once so innocent_ heart and _broke._ He understood, he realized painfully and abruptly and tears came pouring down, _broken_ wails resounding off the walls in thunderous, mourning echos. He didn’t want Davie to be dead! It wasn’t fair, _he didn’t have to die;_ the rain pounding amongst the background quickened, full-out _roared._

The _broken,_ repeated phrases didn’t fall upon deaf ears. But all Arthur could do was hold him tight as he died slowly, agonizingly in his arms, and yearn for what was lost. _He’s gone,_ his mind supplied uselessly; Arthur couldn’t help the ironic smirk that tore his lips. And then fell his tears. “I’m sorry.” He muttered.

“I’m so sorry.”


End file.
